


No Proof, One Touch

by agnes_writes



Series: woodvale [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnes_writes/pseuds/agnes_writes
Summary: Two ex-best friends have to confront the damage between them after circumstance throws them back together.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: woodvale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990324
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	No Proof, One Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by the lyrics of You Are In Love by Taylor Swift, but with my own twist with them. I hope you guys enjoy.

Lia wakes up to the sound of pots and pans clanging and the smell of burnt toast.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, sending colored spots dancing around in her vision. She wonders for a second where she is, why the ceiling was a sky blue instead of her pale white, then the realization comes rushing back to her, a heavy pang on her chest.

She sits up, careful not to make a sound.

It doesn't work.

“Good morning,” a cheerful voice says. Jason's lips quirk up with a tentative smile at the sight of Lia, and she realizes just how haggard she must look. “Still not much of a morning person, I'm guessing.”

“Some things never change.” Lia mutters, running a hand through her hair, fingers pulling at the tangled ends.

“Well, I cooked breakfast.”

“Cooked sounds like much too nice of a word.”

“You're such a grouch,” Jason pouts, all tousled brown hair and an oversized hoodie, and even in her sleepy haze, Lia's heart skips a beat.

_Damn that face._

Lia turns her attention elsewhere, her eyes flitting. She slept on the couch last night, even after Jason's insistence she take his room for the whole time she's staying with him; Lia wishes she took his offer now with the way her back ached, but she's already fixed her resolve. She is just a guest here, after all, possibly an unwelcome one.

The apartment Jason has is nice. If Lia's is— _was_ , given the current circumstances—calm and professional, with her minimal appliances and black and white furniture, Jason's is alive and electric: he has pictures hanging in frames on his vibrant sky blue walls—Lia recognizes a few faces in them: his mother, his sister, his teammates on the football team. His furniture is mismatched, the couch a deep leathery brown, but his throw pillows all varying shades of the color spectrum, from pink to black to green. There's a window that overlooks the city's skyline, a gorgeous view, framed by red silk curtains that Jason's aunt had given him for Christmas, letting the pale sunlight stream in and wash over her. Lia's eyes observe the kitchen, in all of its chaotic glory—Jason didn't know how to cook, after all, which explains why kitchen utensils are strewn across the tiled countertop, or why there's spilled peanut butter near the sink.

The apartment screams Jason, in all its eccentric homeliness.

“I have to go, though,” Lia says, stretching her arms. The sensation is welcome, the knots in her back loosening. She feels Jason watching her, his gaze prickling down her spine. It wakes her up enough to feel the awkwardness come back full force, her stomach dropping.

“Already?”

“I need to study—” Lia is about to say, before she catches Jason's expression, looking like a wounded animal. She sighs, and shakes her head. “I guess I can stay for breakfast.”

His face lights up, the sunlight making his chestnut eyes shine. She hates that she still notices it.

Lia stands up, stifling a yawn and walks to the countertop to be greeted by a plate of burnt slice of toast smeared with peanut butter and a glass of orange juice.

She smiles despite herself.

“Yeah... I usually buy take-out but since you're staying here for a while...” Jason says sheepishly, rubbing his hand behind his neck.

“It won't be for long, I'll be out of your hair before you know it.” Lia assures, not meeting his eyes. She didn't want to be a bother, and imposing herself on him for the next week is already a debt she's dreading to repay.

“No, it's—” Jason shakes his head. “How long will it take for your dorm to be fixed?”

“The fire wasn't severe,” Lie. “Probably a week or so?” Lie. “It'll go by quickly, I hope.” Lie.

“Well... Okay, then.”

Lia picks up the toast, still warm between her fingers, and takes a bite. Her mouth fills with the slightly charred taste of peanut butter and wheat bread, and her chest aches with the familiarity.

It took her four hours to gather the courage to call Jason up to ask if she could stay at his place, and only because the sun had begun to set and snow had begun to fall, which rubbed the fact that Lia was homeless for the next few weeks if she didn't think of something in her face quite effectively. In a city where she knew no one, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Even if it meant contacting the old best friend who dropped you for his girlfriend.

Who cheated on him after three months.

Lia pushes the thought away, clamping down on the bitterness that rose to her throat.

_It's only temporary. You'll get on with your life in no time._

“Can you tell me why you can't study here, Lia? We did it—I mean, I think I can help—”

“I can't concentrate here, not like I did at my apartment, anyway.”

“But the library's all the way across town. Maybe I can drive you there—”

“No thanks.”

“Lia... Are you sure?” Jason sounds like he's swallowing his frustration.

Lia doesn't respond—in the year they stopped talking to each other, Lia got good at that. She learned to put a protective bubble around herself to make sure her heart is safe—and yet somehow, it's still difficult when it's Jason.

She grabs the things she needs to shower, brushes past him, and locks the door without another word. She knows it's rude, but she just has to. Talking to him came too easily, the way he smiled at her when she woke up, like nothing ever happened, and the way she felt as if things finally fell back into place before reality decided to flood back in. She has to do it, for her.

Even if it hurts.

Just a little bit.

~*~

Lia left the apartment without even looking back at Jason.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't deserve it.

But it still stings.

A lot.

Jason stands up, biting back a sigh as he starts tidying up the kitchen. He glances at the plate and glass he laid out for Lia, both empty, and it eases just a little bit of the weight on his chest. At least she likes him enough to eat the disaster he made for her.

He slips on the rubber gloves to start washing the dishes, groaning at the thought. He despises washing dishes—the way his fingers shriveled up when they're damp and the disgusting texture of wet food never fails to make him shudder.

Jason also hates it because it's so mind-numbingly boring that his thoughts decide to wander.

And not all of them are good.

Jason wonders how one person could screw up so much in so little time.

He certainly didn't expect to hear from Lia again—if he closed his eyes, he could still picture her vividly, the day he told her.

She was wearing her dark hair in a braid, her favorite blue scarf draped on her neck, sitting in the park bench just across her campus. There was an autumn wind that brushed against their faces, sending tendrils of Lia's hair to come undone from her braid, and the cold bit into Jason's back like a strange sense of warning. Lia finished her last class late, so the streetlamps had begun to flicker open and the sky was starting to dim as they plopped onto the creaky wooden bench.

Her eyebrows had scrunched together in confusion, and Jason's stomach dropped.

“Did—did you say what I think you just said, Jason?”

Jason had shaken his head, repeating himself. “I... I think we should stop talking to each other.”

He didn't know it yet, but the look on her face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Is... Is this because Sam?”

Jason could already feel a headache coming on, and his hands were clammy. He didn't want to do it, he _really didn't_ , but Sam had given him an ultimatum.

“Look, she found your letter—”

“Which letter?”

“ _That_ letter.” Jason bit out, unable to look her in the eyes, which were probably brimming with tears with the way her voice was shaking.

“It was dated two years ago.”

“Sam doesn't want to risk it.”

“Risk _what_?” Jason doesn't respond, fixing his eyes on Lia's clenched fists on her lap, and he wonders for a second if she was going to punch him in the face.

Lia takes in a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, Jason assumes, and asks again. “Risk what, Jason?”

“Risk that I'd cheat on her with you.”

“Bullshit.”

Jason's head snapped up to meet her gaze, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

If he knew Lia—and he knew her very well—he knew she hated crying in public.

She would despise him for it.

Maybe it was for the best.

“Look, I didn't wanna do this, either—”

“Then don't!” Lia was getting louder, turning heads of the passersby, but Jason knew he deserved every drop of vitriol her voice carried.

He shook his head. “It's not that easy.”

“Stand up for yourself, we're not doing anything wrong!”

“I don't wanna lose Sam! I thought you, of all people, would understand why I'm doing this.”

Silence. Then Lia lifted her arm and wiped her tears off with her sleeve.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked, her voice void of emotion, her eyes hard. Panic rose in Jason's throat, breaking his voice.

“Lia, wait—”

_“Don't say my name.”_

“Just try and understand where I'm coming from—”

“Is that all you have to say? Because I have a midterm tomorrow and I need to go home.” Lia stood up abruptly, and Jason followed suit. He couldn't help but notice how her cheeks turned red from the cold, and grabbed her arm, only for her to swat it away.

“Let me drive you home, at least—”

“I'd rather get shanked in a dirty alley than be in the same car with you right now.” Lia spat, making Jason flinch.

“Please, just text me when you get home so I know you're safe.”

“No.”

Lia turned on her heel and Jason could only watch as her figure shrank and disappeared into the night.

Three days later, a box of all his things he left at her place appeared on his doorstep—all neat and labelled in a very Lia-like manner.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Jason cried cradling that box that night.

A phone rings from his room, and jolts Jason back to reality—back to a sink that was starting to overflow.

“Oh, come on,” he grunts, closing the faucet. The water dripped down the sides of the sink, and Jason grabs a rag to wipe it down. His phone keeps ringing incessantly.

“Just wait a goddamn second, will you?”

He stands up and strides to his room, the doorknob clicking. Jason snatches his phone off his work desk and presses Answer.

“Yeah?”

_“Dude, shit just went down—”_ blares the voice on the other end.

He tries to pay attention, but his mind doesn't cooperate. Jason's eyes wander across his room—it's painted the same shade of sky blue as his living room. His bed sits next to a small drawer with a lamp and the keys to his car, a bookshelf on the opposite end, filled with the books he started collecting for the past 7 years. Sitting next to the shelf is his work desk, with discarded sticky notes scattered on the table, his cup of pens half-empty, and his textbooks haphazardly stacked. A corkboard is drilled into the wall with a whiteboard and pinned important reminders.

He plops onto the swivel chair, barely listening to whatever rambling his friend is going on about. A bar fight? A bouncer got involved? He didn't know.

Then his eyes find it.

Tacked to the corkboard, just at his eye-level, is a polaroid picture of him and Lia.

He stifles a sigh and makes a “hmm” noise when a question is asked on the other line, but his focus is solely on the photo. He plucks it from the wall, careful not to tear the edges, and the sides of lips lift almost on cue as he stares at it, turning it in his hand.

The two of them had been standing in front of a cream wall, blank save for a couple of balloons showing in the frame.

Lia had let her dark waves down, tumbling down her shoulders. She had worn a blue tank top and white jeans, and was staring up at Jason like he was the only thing worth looking at in the world, the brightest smile he'd ever seen painted on her face.

Jason's arm was draped across her shoulders, pulling her close to him. He had worn a hideous blue polo that matched hers, only it was a size too big for him so he left it unbuttoned to reveal a plain white shirt underneath, and dark pants. Jason had been winking at the camera, a cocky smile on his face.

He remembered the loud party music and the jeers of their friends as they snapped the photo. It was before everything had gone to shit—before the late nights of staring at the ceiling, itching to grab the phone to call Lia, before the hundreds of discarded apology letters that only his trash can would ever read, before Sam, the disaster that wrecked him, came into the picture.

On the bottom was a neat scribble in Lia's handwriting: 12-13-17.

And underneath, Jason's own messy scrawl that read: _My ride-or-die._

Jason feels something crack in his chest, and his eyes start to sting.

_“Are you still there?”_ the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Huh? Sorry, man, but I gotta go.”

_“Oh... Oh, that's cool, I can tell you all about it in class tomorrow. We got Ramirez for Philo, right? Boring shit.”_

“Definitely. I have... I have some things to tell you guys, too. Thanks for being cool about it.”

_“No prob. Bye!”_ The receiver clicks off and Jason is left in a silent room staring at the photo, fixated on Lia's face and it hits him all at once.

Of what used to be.

Of what could have been.

Of what... _could be._

Jason had always been certain that his door with Lia was closed, bolted shut.

But now he isn't too sure.

And that little sliver of hope is all he needs.

~*~

Lia did not accomplish any studying.

In the approximately 13 hours she spent huddled over her law textbooks in the musty library, her mind refused to register a single word from any of them.

Her stubborn, stubborn mind that kept going back to Jason.

Lia's phone pings with a notification, and she resists the urge to throw it against the bookshelf.

_Speak of the devil._

An unregistered number registers with the text: _It's getting late, do you want me to pick you up?_

No, she most certainly did not. She ignores the text, and glances at the time, eyes widening. 11:27 PM.

“Oh _shit_ —” she whispers to herself, frantically tapping on an app to book a ride home.

Declined.

Declined.

Declined.

Declined.

The urge to throw her phone against the bookshelf comes back even stronger as Lia bites back a frustrated groan.

She leans back on her chair and considers just sleeping at the library, seeing that it is open for 24 hours.

But the grouchy librarian has been sending glares at her since 8 PM, making it very clear that she's overstaying her welcome.

Lia glances back at her lit phone screen as it vibrates with another message.

_Lia? Are you okay? Do you need a ride home?_

Home is a very strong word, Lia thinks, rolling her eyes. It's easier to get annoyed when she doesn't see him—easier to remember how angry she was when he isn't around.

Lia twists her lips, thumbs twiddling as she considers for a moment.

Swallowing your pride is never easy, and its bitterness leaves an aftertaste you resent for a long time.

Still, Lia gingerly picks her phone up and starts typing.

_Sure._

She's about to set it back down when it vibrates again.

_Great! It's cold outside, so stay inside, I'll just text you when I'm there._ _Stay safe!_

Lia grimaces, unnerved by just how... excited his reply seems. She shakes her head and decides to start packing her books, wondering if she's doing the right thing.

She wants the seed of warmth blooming in her chest to stop, wants the raging hatred she's been cultivating for so long to take over, but it never truly reaches its peak. She buries her face in her arms, slumping on the table, exhausted.

Jason always liked driving her places. He never minded—he knew that even when she tries to play it cool, she's terrified of getting behind the wheel, and he really didn't want to bail her out of jail when she accidentally runs over someone's foot with her sad attempts of parking. He'd always drive Lia to her classes because he “didn't want her to catch any disgusting virus at the train station” or “kidnapped by an Uber driver”, and she'd never fail to roll her eyes at him. He'd always ask her to wear her seatbelt and on bad days, he'd go straight through a McDonald's drive through to pick her up.

She still owes him 20 bucks for a float.

Lia hates it, hates how she still remembers everything as if it were only yesterday, hates how a part of her—bigger than she wants to admit—that wishes to go back. She bites her lip to keep her screaming from frustration.

She isn't sure how long she sat there, face hidden in her arms, bombarded by unwelcome memories she worked so hard to forget, but a warm hand taps on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She bolts upright, almost colliding with Jason's chin. Lia's ears burn as her eyes find his, and resists the urge to gawk at him.

Jason's face is flushed from the cold, his ever-messy hair wind blown, lips parted in shock. He's bundled up in a brown coat and red scarf, looking at Lia with surprised eyes, hand still mid-air. On his arm hangs a familiar thick brown coat, the black buttons shining in the dim light.

It was Lia's.

“Do you feel sick?”

“No, just... Just tired. You said you'd text me when you were outside.”

Jason bites his lower lip. “I didn't want you to wait in the cold.”

“I wouldn't have minded.”

“I would have.”

Lia bites back a scathing response and stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Jason presses his lips together and starts walking, Lia following suit.

The dark sky jars Lia—somehow, seeing the night sky made her exhaustion double, as if a weight is pressing on her shoulders, the hours of frustration finally catching up to her. The cold air doesn't help, and Lia shivers. Jason looks back at her, and without another word, drapes her coat on her shoulders.

“I'm fine—”

“Nope, you're not. You hate the cold.”

She swats his hand away, putting the coat on herself, and feels Jason's eyes watching her hands work as she buttons it. Lia tries to ignore it, how his eyes scan her face, and she thanks the cold as an easy excuse for her flushed face.

“You forgot to bring it...”

“It wasn't cold this morning.”

“Yeah... The weather's been acting weird...”

“Yeah.”

Awkwardness hangs in the air, and Jason takes it as a cue to unlock the car door. The grey Chevy still looks well taken care of, the shiny coat of paint reflecting the pale moonlight. Jason swings the passenger seat open and gestures for Lia to step inside. She nods and thanks him, uncomfortable with just how familiar the gesture seems.

The inside of his car hasn't changed much, the same dark leather seats and dashboard that's been wiped clean, but Lia would bet that if she pops open the compartment cabinet, a whole mess of papers and knick-knacks would come spilling out.

Jason slides in the driver's seat and jams his key in the starter, the awkward tension multiplying. Lia closes her eyes and braces herself.

It's going to be a _long_ car ride.

~*~

The silence is deafening.

Jason's hands clench on the steering wheel, daring a glance at Lia, who is staring at the window. The streetlights come and go, sending shadows and orange light dancing on her faces. Jason feels like Lia's a bubble—if he reaches out and touches her, she'd disappear. She suddenly shifts, her green eyes meeting his, and he clears his throat.

“Do you wanna put some music on?”

“Not really,” is the flat answer, but unlike before, Lia doesn't tear her gaze away from him.

Silence falls yet again, and Jason feels Lia's eyes prickling the back of his neck.

“So how's law going?”

“Same old.”

Jason presses his lips together, eyes glued to the road. He brakes for a red light, and turns to Lia, who was still watching him like a puzzle she was trying to solve.

“Lia...” he starts, turning to her. She raises an eyebrow, face unreadable but eyes blazing, and he gulps. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“What do you think?”

Jason's insides squirm. An angry Lia equals a very scared Jason.

He'd say that an angry Lia isn't a pretty sight—but then he'd be lying. Even angry, even in the dim light, Jason can make out the curve of Lia's lips and the small dimple by her cheek; a tendril of her escapes her ponytail, falling to her face, and Jason once again feels the inexplicable urge to tuck it behind her ear, but he'd probably get slapped if he did that right now. Instead, he turns away to check the stop light and sighs.

“I think... I think we need to bring up the elephant in the room.”

“...I see.”

Jason clears his throat, gripping the steering wheel as if it's the only thing that's keeping him grounded. The light turns green and he removes his foot from the brake, his mind still a muddled mess.

He didn't want to blow this. He didn't want to screw it up like he did the first time. He didn't want to make her angrier than she already is.

“Lia... The whole thing with Sam...”

“She cheated on you, didn't she?”

An electric shock lanced through Jason's spine. He looks at her through his peripheral, confused.

“How did you know?”

“Everyone knows. It was the biggest bitch move I've seen in a while—” Lia starts, her voice cool, but her eyes were aflame, “—and trust me, I've seen a lot of bitch moves.”

“...I guess.” Jason swallows, more in shock by the fact that Lia has bothered keeping up with him after the fall-out than about hearing Sam's name again. “Yeah, it's not everyday you walk in on your girlfriend and your quarterback making out on your monthsary.”

“I'm sorry. It must have been hard.” Lia replies, and the sympathy in her voice is real.

Jason shakes his head. Lia didn't get it—he didn't care about Sam, not anymore, at least—and he blurts out, “It was harder without you.”

“And who's to blame for that?” Lia responds quietly, observing her fingernails.

Jason's stomach drops, and all the alarm bells in his head starts ringing. He doesn't understand why, but this was exactly what he was afraid of.

He didn't expect Lia to forgive him easily, but he had at least hoped—naively, it seems—that her anger lessened, even just a little. His throat feels dry as he makes a turn onto the highway. Lia is waiting for his answer.

“Mine. It's all my fault, and I've hated myself for it every single day—”

“You definitely seemed fine.”

“Lia, please, just listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me.” Lia inhales, and Jason braces himself. She never minces words, and most of the time, they hit right on the mark.

“You broke my heart. Did you know that?” Jason flinches at how smoothly it comes out, how matter-of-fact it sounded, but it was the truth, and he had to hear it.

He has to accept what he did to her.

“You know how hard it was to lose someone I've known for years? Someone who knew _everything_ about me, someone I fell in love with—” Jason's breath hitches.

Yes, Lia fell in love with him. She was never ashamed of it, but she kept a respectful distance because Jason had liked Sam. Lia had told him that she would take what he would give, not because she was desperate, but because she was lucky enough to have him in her life that all she wanted was to see him happy.

And he blew it.

“—and yet somehow, you looked at me and decided I wasn't worth keeping.”

Lia sounds like she's rehearsed this spiel in the mirror a hundred times, like she memorized what she was going to say to him to a T, and Jason doesn't know how to respond. He feels helpless, and it took every fiber in his being to stop himself from pulling over and letting Lia just beat him senseless, if it manages to help, even just a little.

How do you treat a wound you inflicted yourself?

“I'm sorry.” is all he could say, his voice shaky.

“And what's worse was I kept seeing you everywhere. Happy. The first month we stopped seeing each other, you were out drinking and having pool parties and doing God knows what if our friends' Instagram stories were anything to judge by—I guess having the same circle isn't as appealing as we thought it was.” Lia laughs dryly, humor non-existent in her voice.

“Meanwhile, I was in my apartment, trying to stop the tears from coming because my neighbors were probably getting annoyed.”

“I... didn't know.”

“No, no, you didn't. How could have you known?” Lia sighs.

“I wanted to call you so badly, but I didn't know what to say. So I didn't.”

A look of confusion passes over Lia's face, so quickly that Jason thought he must have imagined it.

“Before or after Sam?”

“Both. But... A lot of times after. But—” Jason pauses, his chest hollowing at the memory of him waking up with his head pounding and cradling half-empty vodka bottles open, 4 hours late to class. Of drunk texts to Sam who never received them because she blocked his number.

“But I didn't want you to think I was using you.”

“I did think that, you know. I felt disposable. Sometimes I still do.” She slumps back into her seat, and the panic comes back fresh, thumping loud and clear in Jason's chest.

“You aren't, Lia, please, don't say that—”

“You were already drifting away, too. With Sam, I mean. I figured it was a matter of time. I just didn't expect it to come so quickly.”

“I would have never—” Jason stops himself. He would have never left her? The biggest lie of them all. Because he did.

He stays silent instead, feeling a thousand times worse than before.

Jason pulls up to his apartment building, eyes stinging and throat burning.

Maybe he is an idiot for thinking things would ever work out.

Lia deserves better.

And yet, Jason is selfish.

~*~

They sit in the car for what seems like forever, silent. A weight feels like it's been lifted from Lia's chest—she's spent a long time mulling over what to say, what to do, and how to say it; so many fantasies of hurting Jason with sharp words and insults like the way he hurt her—but she's glad they came out simple. Strong. Just like she always tried to be.

Lia looks out the car window, at the looming apartment building, and clenches her fists in her lap, the quiet eating away at her. The night has deepened, the outside of a car seemingly a different dimension from the hustle and bustle of a big city. A warm light catches in the corner of her eye, and she sees it.

The old café she and Jason used to visit stands shining like a beacon on the dimly lit street.

Jason clears his throat, and Lia turns to look at him. His breath is still shaky and his chestnut eyes are glistening with unshed tears, and despite herself, a wave of regret washes over her, blanketing her.

“Do... Do you...” Jason starts, voice hoarse, and Lia turns away, not wanting to see him like this.

“Do you, at least, want to get a coffee with me?”

The question sounds so uncertain, so fragile, so unlike the goofy and confident Jason she'd always seen that it takes Lia a second to register it.

“I—nevermind, we should probably head upstairs, it's past midnight anyway—”

“I'd like that.” Lia cuts him off. She isn't sure what made her say yes, whether it's the exhaustion, or the relief, or the strange urge to comfort Jason in any way she could allow herself.

_There's no harm in coffee, right?_

They leave the vehicle, Jason opening the car door for her, and stride into the café, the little bell by the entrance ringing pleasantly when they swing the door open.

The smell of ground coffee beans and baked pies wrapped around Lia that reminded her of a warm winter's night at Jason's grandmother's house during Christmas—Lia never liked spending holidays with her family, so Jason made sure to include her in everything; his grandmother always made Lia blush by telling her she couldn't wait until the two of them married.

The café looked almost identical, save for the chairs and table booths that look newer than the vintage (Lia had wrinkled her nose when Jason told her that was only a nicer way to say old) furniture before. The wooden panelling and bookshelves on the wall made it feel like a homely cabin, several vases with fresh flowers as a centerpiece to each booth, the counter a smooth oak with chalkboards drilled into a ceiling panel displaying the handwritten menus. A soft classical piano piece echoed in the background, the cherry on top for the perfect quaint little ambience.

Lia smiles.

Jason nods to a familiar spot, and wordlessly settles into the booth, not looking her in the eye.

“I should order.”

“Wait, here—” Lia says, opening her bag to retrieve her wallet, but Jason shakes his head.

“It's on me, Lia.”

“No way, I can pay—”

“Still haven't changed a bit, have you? I know you can pay—” Jason says, voice still rough, but the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips, “—but when have I ever let you?”

With that, Jason turns on his heel and walks to the counter.

It wasn't until he comes back with two drinks in his hand did she realize that she never told him her order.

He hands her a cup filled to the brim with a green slush and topped off with whipped cream before he settles into his seat with his own in his hand.

Lia stares at him with scrunched brows, and Jason looks up mid-sip.

“Did I get it wrong?”

“No. Just surprised, is all.”

Jason smiles now, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I can't believe you still order that diabetes in a cup.” Lia claps a hand against her mouth, surprised at how casual she sounded, but Jason's eyes light up and smiles even wider before his expression twists into one of mock offense.

“It's better than drinking blended grass, you _heathen_.”

Lia raises an eyebrow. “Matcha is not blended grass, you man-child, it's an acquired taste—”

“Yeah, because you have to suffer before your tongue learns to tolerate it.”

Lia snorts, sipping. She stirs the whipped cream in her cup, plucks it out to taste it on the outer edges of her straw. Jason lets out a laugh, his brown eyes warm under the cafe's light. Lia's heart thumps faster against her will.

“What?”

“You have a little—” Jason lifts his hand up to the side of his own mouth. Lia groans.

“Now who's the man-child?”

“Unbelievable.” Lia wipes her mouth on a tissue, ears reddening with embarrassment.

“You missed. Here, let me—” Jason reaches across the table, thumb swiping across her cheek. Gentle. Sure. Their eyes meet, and they both freeze, just staring at each other.

It was so easy being with him—after all this time, she feels safe when it's Jason. A part of her wants to damn it all and launch herself straight into his arms, back to where she believes she belongs. She wants to feel his arms around her, strong and welcoming, to feel the press of his body and the steadfast beat of his heart and know she's home.

But a bigger part of her, the part that had locked her heart in a cage and threw away the key last autumn whispered warnings in her ear. Not to get too close. Not to trust anyone, especially _him_ , if she didn't want to get hurt.

For the first time in a long while, Lia questions whether or not she could have both.

Jason draws back his hand, and the small part screams at Lia to grab it, to touch it, for it to not pull away, but she tells that part to quiet down.

Lia sees Jason recede cautiously, biting his lip like he always does when he's unsure.

“I'm sorry. That wasn't—”

“Yeah.”

Lia looks out the window to find snow falling outside, little flakes drifting down to the pavement, glistening under the street lamps.

“Lia...”

“Yes?”

“Is it too late?”

Lia's breath hitches, and she closes her eyes.

“I don't know.”

She opens them again to find Jason looking down at his cup, fingers tapping its sides nervously.

“That's not a no.”

“It's not, is it?” Lia says.

Because it isn't a no. Not to her. She thought it would be, but it isn't.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you want me to beg? Because Lia, I will—” Jason's voice starts to crack, and Lia just watches in shock as fresh tears start brimming in his eyes.

“You know that's not what I want.”

Jason exhales shakily, and Lia sees a face of Jason she didn't see often—one he wears when a date didn't go well or he missed a touchdown. Resigned. Tired. He doesn't look her in the eye, his messy hair looking more disheveled than charming with the expression.

She doesn't like seeing that face.

“Then what can I do? Lia, I know it's selfish of me to ask this of you but if there's any chance you're willing to give me, I'll take it, _please_ —”

“Jason...” Lia starts, and Jason gasps, his bowed head shooting up, eyes wide.

“You said my name.”

Lia stops, her breath catching at the statement.

“I... I did.”

“Lia...”

“Jason—” he closes his eyes at the sound, as if he couldn't believe he was hearing it. Lia is in awe. Still, her voice is steady as she continues.

“—you can't expect this to just go away.”

“I know, Lia,” Jason sounds breathless.

“I need time.”

“I can give you that.”

“Is it... Is that alright?” Lia looks at her hands, balling them into fists—as if the act helps her strengthen her resolve.

“Yes.”

“I'd like to figure this out first. Slowly. You understand that, right?”

“Of course I do, Lia. Anything.”

“Small steps.”

“Small steps,” he echoes, nodding, his relief dripping from his voice.

Jason grabs something from his pocket and places it on the table. He slides it toward Lia, and her heart skips a beat. It's a polaroid picture of them together; wearing matching blue and white clothes, and Lia recognizes the lovesick smile on her face.

“You remember this?”

“I do.”

Jason points to the words scrawled underneath in his messy handwriting.

_My ride-or-die._

Lia's heart races even faster, and she looks up at Jason, incredulous that he kept this safe.

“Lia...”

He pauses, then says, “You're my best friend.”

The way he looks at her sends butterflies erupting in her stomach. The way his eyes searched her face, scanning it as if tattooing it into his mind, desperate. Pleading.

Maybe it means something. Everything. Nothing. Lia doesn't know.

Maybe someday she can find out. Maybe someday she'd be okay enough to ask what it meant. If it still means the same way as it does tonight.

But that isn't today.

Today, she takes a small step back to Jason. Not much, but enough.

But today, Lia chooses her herself.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think in the comments, feedback is really important to me to help improve and continue writing! Love you all, thank you 💕


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